Duck Lake I like driving backwards in the fog

The message was clear—having lived with the two brothers who barely spoke English for over a year, she could understand perfectly what the other suggested. Her jaw slackened for a moment, a roll of her shoulders back in an attempt to relax herself as her eyes darted to the lake.

The other made a small attempt at a family of ducks near her—yet still from reach. Her silver paws moved of their own accord—drifting into the shallows of the cool water, inhaling sharply at the feel of it against the summer heat. A family of ducklings—guided by their parents, unlike anything she had ever known and had always struggled to fulfill.

She stilled, waiting, wondering if the father duck would continue to steer them toward her. A much younger Meadow would have balked at the idea of plucking ducklings from their family—she wouldn’t have been able to stomach it.

One didn’t survive on remorse, though, and as they came closer, the father duck realized their error only a moment too late—the vicinity of the new predator. A lunge from the silver and rust wolf erupted the water to spray—jaws gaping and snapping to air, only until she grabbed something soft and amiable under hungry teeth.

It was only a taste, though, when her morsel of duckling was dropped from her jaws when sharp teeth and a bill met her ear and muzzle. A snarl, she rebounded, the flap of wings blinding her momentarily and causing her to stumble backward, losing her footing and going under the water.

When she surfaced, blinking fiercely against the water in her eyes, bewilderment settled in her chest at the father duck ushering his brood away quickly, and while her stomach gave a rumbling protest, there was something that eased her heart to know that at least one parent out there could do it right.